


Light Show

by orchidbreezefc



Category: Wolverine and the X-Men (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, New Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 16:18:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3074204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchidbreezefc/pseuds/orchidbreezefc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reason Quentin gives is that he has poor circulation and gets cold quickly. Broo chimes in that Quentin is small enough that the Square Cube Law works against him. Evan redirects Quentin’s subsequent anger by teasing that Quentin doesn’t have to make excuses if he wants to wear something of his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light Show

**Author's Note:**

> I started this for New Year's near Xmas... 2013, that is. Better late than never. [Tumblr mirror here.](http://orchidbreezefc.tumblr.com/post/106765923940/) Happy new year, everyone!

The reason Quentin gives is that he has poor circulation and gets cold quickly. Broo chimes in that Quentin is small enough that the Square Cube Law works against him. Evan redirects Quentin’s subsequent anger by teasing that Quentin doesn’t have to make excuses if he wants to wear something of his. Quentin takes the letterman jacket from Evan’s hands in a huff, while Evan privately suspects Quentin just doesn’t like having his arms uncovered, as a sign of insecurity.

  
But it’s not really a topic he’s too interested in pursuing. Not with the way Quentin has to push the sleeves up to bunch on his upper arms so that the wrists are in the right place. Definitely not with how Quentin’s expression goes from pinched and strained from the cold to a softer sort of satisfaction. Evan feels his heart race as Quentin snuggles the jacket tighter around him.

  
"What are you looking at?" Quentin asks sharply. He’s not looking smug like he does when he knows he’s getting Evan hot and bothered; he has a defensive frown. "You don’t need to make fun of the fit, you giant jackass."

  
Ah. So that’s it. Evan takes Quentin’s hand and pulls it to his face as if to kiss it. “It’s not that you look silly because you’re small,” he assures him.

  
Quentin despite everything is an easy blusher, though the cold may be compounding the colour on his cheeks. He tugs his hand back out of Evan’s grip. “Fuck you. I’m not small, you’re too damn tall is all.”

  
Evan makes another move at Quentin’s hand and Quentin stuffs it in his pocket before he can catch it, then looks back up at him challengingly. Evan stifles a laugh and Quentin scowls. “Genesis, dashing hero, six foot four; the height all the better to condescend from,” mutters Quentin, turning back to squinting at the sky.

  
"By my calculations, Ms and Mr Beaubier should be arriving for their performance in fifty-two seconds," Broo chirps, checking and double checking a tablet. Quentin knocks the tablet down out of Broo’s hands.

  
Broo squeaks in surprise and bustles to retrieve it, but Evan is already there, dusting it off, leaning down to offer an apologetic smile closer to Broo’s level. “Don’t mind Quentin,” Evan says, pressing the tablet back into Broo’s little hands. Behind him a scoff, and then a yelp, as from having one’s foot stepped on.

  
Moments of silence turn to minutes, and with each the concern on Broo’s face increases. “This is stupid,” Quentin announces. “And horrible. It’s fucking the middle of the night in fucking winter in god damn New York.”

  
"This is a comparatively warm night for the last of the year, friend Quentin," Broo contributes. "And you are closest to her." He inclines his flat head to Idie, who is paying no attention to the others, watching the heavens and cradling a flame.

  
"I’m a Cali kid, okay?" Quentin grumbles. "It’s under sixty, I’m not made for that shit."

  
"We could go back inside," Evan suggests mildly. Quentin gives him one of his patented you-must-be-stupid-and-I’m-too-smart-to-deal-with-it looks.

  
"When they’ve lifted my curfew? Fat chance." He looks back up and snuggles his arms further into Evan’s sleeves. "I bet it’s fucking JP’s fault. ‘A queen is never late, everyone else is merely early.’"

  
Evan is about to reprimand when the light appears and everybody starts gasping and shushing each other. The point of light blooms into a flower, its petals waving. Idie abandons her ember to watch. “I had thought they would be closer,” murmurs Broo in concern as the flower wilts and fizzles out. In its place unfurl the wings of a butterfly. Everyone oohs appreciatively.

  
A tree branches out geometrically, with painstaking artistry; it dissolves into birds taking flight. A delighted squeal comes from the kids’ left, immediately assumed to be from Shogo but which upon closer inspection actually came from his mother, whose eyes are aglow with delight and maybe a touch of wistfulness.

  
Fantastical castles are accosted in the sky by glittering dragons; multicolored turtles make their way across a sea filled with stars; a herd of horses stampedes by that Trevor will get in an argument with Kubark over because he refuses to believe Trevor saw a horn on one. The show goes on almost forty-five minutes.

  
Finally the light resolves itself into a large number 10 surrounded by sparkles. The crowd catches on immediately and shouts, not quite in unison, “Ten!”

  
"Sheep," mutters Quentin.

  
Evan bumps him with his elbow and cups his hands around his own mouth for extra volume as he cries, “Nine!”

  
"I hate New Year’s," Quentin continues loudly.

  
"Seven! Six!"

  
"Everyone’s so fake, it’s fucking asinine—"

  
"Three! Two!"

  
By the time they reach one, Evan has already reeled Quentin in, earning a squawk of surprise. He kisses him through the moment of midnight. The people around them scream and whoop in celebration, crashing into each other’s arms.

  
"Happy new year," Evan murmurs, his soft voice the eye of the colorful mutant storm around them, touching his forehead to Quentin’s. Quentin looks at him and then bumps their heads out of alignment.

  
"Stupid conformist," he says, but he must not be too mad, judging by the way he had kissed Evan back.


End file.
